


and i chase it down (with a shot of truth)

by orphan_account



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It starts like this, with Casey Gardner sitting on the couch in the sunroom with Evan, his hand clutched in hers, saying, “I think we need to break up.”
Relationships: Casey Gardner/Izzie, Evan Chapin & Casey Gardner
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	and i chase it down (with a shot of truth)

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a (half-)rewritten version of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287243), which I wrote and published, and then subsequently orphaned a while later because I wasn’t all too happy with it. Anyway, I decided to tweak certain parts – just for my own satisfaction, because I have a habit of reading back things I've written all the time, and I sort of came to hate this after a while. It's pretty much the same as the previous one, but this just appeases my mind about everything I hate with the original...?

It starts like this, with Casey Gardner sitting on the couch in the sunroom with Evan, his hand clutched in hers, saying, “I think we need to break up.”

His grip on her hand loosens ever so slightly – shocked, maybe – and he sputters out, “W-what? Why?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” she says, tears welling in her eyes, brimming to the forefront, gathering behind her eyelids and slipping on her eyelashes. “Well… I do. I do. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

Evan reaches forward, resting a hand on her cheek, wiping away a stray tear on her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “It’s alright. It’s alright, but I just – I wanna know why. Can you just… tell me why? Or at least try?”

“Okay, okay.” A shaky breath shudders through her body, her chest rising and falling with the inhale and exhale. “I – I think that I might have… feelings,” she chokes out, through the burning and breaking in her heart, the unravelling in her ribcage, the sinking in her stomach. “For – for someone else.”

“Who?” he says, softly, uttered quietly, a barely there whisper.

She pauses, sighs, says, “I just – I want you to know that – that I still love you. I still love you, even if doing this may seem like it doesn’t. I’m – I’m doing it because it’s unfair to you otherwise and–”

 _“Who?”_ he demands, closer to harsh, but still far from it at the same time.

“Does it matter?” she asks – a deflection, a distraction – trying to quell the drops of water that pitch their way forward, attempting to spill out and tumble down her already tear-tracked face.

“Does it matter? Does it _matter?”_ he bursts out, anger clear in his voice.

Casey flinches; his tone becomes softer.

“Listen, Casey, I – of course it matters. And I know – I know you might not wanna say, but… but I think I – I think I deserve to know.”

Tears brim in his eyes now as well, and he places a hand on her knee, comforting, a familiar presence, warm through the fabric of her jeans.

“Izzie,” she says. “It’s Izzie. I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she asks. “Is that – is that weird?”

“No.” He looks at her, closely, rubs his hand over her left leg where she’s got it tucked up on the couch, on the knee joint where her jeans are slowly splitting apart – and not to mention are frayed at the cuffs and stitched up at the seams – takes her hand in his other one, intertwines their fingers, says, “No, it’s not – it’s not weird. And–” A pregnant pause. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I just – I didn’t wanna be like my mom, you know?” she whispers, voice barely audible. “I didn’t wanna ruin _us._ Because you’re one of the most important people to me. And because Izzie is too, and I think she might like me as well, and I don’t want to lose her _or_ you. You’re both as important to me, in equal measure.”

(Evan understands – he really does. Casey is one of his most important people, too; losing her would be like losing a limb.)

Casey is still talking – “I don’t – I didn’t want to cheat on you or anything. I didn’t want to hurt you; you don’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”

She looks at him, taking in the curve of his jaw, the gleam of his eye, the scruff of his hair, tries not to think about the fact that this might be the last time she can think of him in this way.

She smiles, bumps her shoulder against his, tucks her feet into his lap, says, “You promise you don’t find it weird?”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling, hauling his legs up onto the couch as well, knocking his knee and foot against hers in the process. “I promise. I’m just… glad you told me.”

“And we can still be friends, right?” she ventures, extending an olive branch, the thought of _maybe it’s better this way_ ringing in her head.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still friends. Still friends is… good.”

“Okay,” she says, smiles, and he smiles too, his grin stretching impossibly wider, and it feels safe to lean her head on his shoulder, with their fingers still entwined, legs propped sideways and their long limbs all tangled together, their trademark pairs of mismatched socks peeking from the tops of their shoes, their hearts stitched at the seams and fraying at the cuffs, just like Casey’s old jeans, but they’re together, they’re still friends, as solid as ever, so… it’s okay.

 _It’s okay,_ Casey thinks, and her heart feels fit to burst, buttons beginning to pop and seams starting to rip. It’s a new start, clutched in the palm of her hand, ready to be released whenever she feels the need, and everything’s okay. _Everything’s okay.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_It starts like this, with Casey Gardner kicking up dust underneath her heels, adrenaline hot in her veins, blood rushing, heart pumping, head pounding. She focuses on the rhythm of her strides, the thud her trainers make against the track – one, two; one, two – ignoring the burning in her legs as she completes another lap. The night is humid, another case of the typical summer weather, and she’s training just as hard as ever. With the seed of going to UCLA sprouted in her mind, she’s decided to try and push herself, get her times down, go that extra mile – literally _and_ figuratively – to have even a chance of going. But it’s two years away and not worrying about things that lie far ahead in the future is her forte. And, after all, running has always been a means of distraction for her; it makes it possible for her to lose herself in the feeling of her heart beating in tandem with the thump of her feet, in the racing of her pulse and in the adrenaline rush that courses through her body, spreading outwards from the confines of her ribcage to the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes.

It starts like this, with her feeling her energy beginning to run low and her legs truly beginning to burn, with Izzie appearing out of almost nowhere and saying _Casey_ in that way she has, accompanied by that smile of hers – of gold and of light – and making her look so ethereal and beautiful that Casey is sure she’s never felt so holy before.

“Izzie,” she says, and smiles as well, inconsequential in the face of everything, in the rapid beating of her heart.

“It’s a strange time to practice,” Izzie remarks, looking up at the sky, where the stars aren’t visible from the bright lights surrounding the running track. “But better late than never.”

How Izzie even knew she was here, Casey has no idea, but she’s not complaining, not really. A weight feels lifted off her shoulders with the knowing that her and Evan aren’t together anymore, that she’s free to be with Izzie the way she wants to be.

“I swear I’m not a stalker,” Izzie adds. “I just… really had to talk to you.”

“How’d you find me?” Casey asks, and then the answer’s on the tip of her tongue, but Izzie replies before she can say it.

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Elsa tracks my phone,” she says, a wry smile making its way onto her face, and then she chuckles to herself. There are no pockets in her shorts, nothing to do with her hands other than tug at the hem of her shirt, so that’s what she does.

“First off,” Izzie starts, and Casey instantly feels the mood change, can sense it in the way the air becomes thick with tension, “it _sucks_ you’re avoiding me. I mean, I put myself out there, and I was _honest_ with you, and for that I get the _silent treatment?”_

Casey feels her breath hitch in her throat – unnoticed by Izzie but painfully obvious to her, and she can’t even think of _anything_ to say: not one thing, in the entire world of possibilities. She doesn’t know if she’s ever been speechless like this before.

“Even if you _don’t_ feel the same,” Izzie continues, “you could at _least_ be there for me as a _friend._ You’re making me feel crazy!” She stops, pauses, takes a deep breath, and then says, “If I _knew…_ that you were gonna be all weird and this was gonna jeopardise our friendship, I never – in a million years – would have told you how I felt. Because… it is becoming incredibly clear that you don’t feel the same way–”

Casey can’t take it anymore. She surges forward, wind-swept hair and all, grabs Izzie by the face, and kisses her. _Hard._ All the pent-up energy she couldn’t quite release from running forces its way into the kiss, but, when Izzie kisses her too and returns the same heat, it all comes rushing back in spades.

Izzie’s lips taste sweet – honey, maybe, or cherry, or a mix of both, God forbid; Casey has no damn clue, too caught up in the feeling of Izzie’s mouth pressed against hers. Casey feels Izzie’s hand raising to cup the back of her neck, and she’s quick to do the same thing, before wrapping her entire arm protectively around Izzie, bringing her close and not wanting to ever let go again.

She smiles, _laughs,_ into the kiss, and there’s a memory – of Slurpee Night, capitalised and all, building blocks in Casey’s head for the feeling she only just learnt to put a name to. Casey remembers wanting to kiss Izzie then, maybe, in a vague and abstract sort of way, with the taste of cotton candy still prominent on their tongues. She only went as far as holding her hand, but it was there. Casey knows that now; she can recognise the feeling for what it actually is.

Holding Izzie’s hand had rekindled something in her she didn’t even know had died out – and if even just _that_ made butterflies erupt in her stomach, kissing her must have made her heart feel like it had been set on fire, or had spontaneously combusted into nothing, into ashes, a phoenix reborn.

There’s a memory, of the night of Casey’s party, of forehead promises and almost-kisses and everything else in between. Of Izzie saying, _No, I… I was afraid of losing_ you.

There’s memories and reminders of Izzie everywhere she goes, and she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anything less than this, than this moment right now, with Izzie’s lips against hers.

When they finally pull away from each other, needing to catch their breaths, Casey can only stare, breathe out a quiet _whoa,_ still able to taste the chapstick Izzie uses on her lips, in her mouth, and she relishes it, never wanting to lose the taste.

“Yeah,” Izzie murmurs, quiet, after a while, catching her breath still, her eyes dropping to Casey’s lips once again.

“So…” Casey trails off, letting the laugh and the smile in her voice take command, relishing in the skip and the beat of her heart.

Izzie shrugs her shoulders, imperceptibly, almost unnoticeable to anyone but Casey, who has learnt to catalogue every single one of Izzie’s movements. “I don’t know.”

“Hungry?” Casey asks, breathless still, and Izzie – staring at her with something akin to awe in her eyes – says, accompanied by a breathy little chuckle that makes Casey's heart beat tenfold, “Actually, I really am.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Casey Gardner propped up on the brick wall outside the closest store they could find, hand inching ever closer to Izzie’s own. It serves as a painful reminder to that night that was driving four towns away and cotton candy slurpees and holding hands and… and declining Evan’s phone call just to spend a little longer with Izzie with no interruption.

(And whether that was the right thing to do or not, Casey isn’t sure. But it felt right in the moment, so isn’t _that_ what matters, more than anything else? Maybe; maybe not.)

“You had me so confused,” she says, laughing, trying to ignore the way her heart is _still_ beating faster than ever – faster even than the thump it makes while running – with Izzie so close to her, with dangling feet and a cool breeze on her legs.

“Me?” Izzie asks, a giggle, a skip in Casey’s heart.

“Yeah,” Casey says, with a smile and a laugh and _another_ skip in her heart. “After Slurpee Night? You were like… it’s good to have friends. We’re friends. Friends. Friends. Friends.”

“What was I _supposed_ to say?”

There’s a smile obvious in her tone, her mouth stretched into a grin, and it’s there in Casey’s as well when she says, “I don’t know, the truth?”

Izzie side-eyes her, a wry smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, and matter-of-factly tells her, “When I told you the truth you ran away.”

“True,” Casey admits, nodding, and then laughs out, “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging her shoulders, like a gentle upward tug, Izzie bites her lips, says, “You came around.”

Her eyes drop to Casey’s mouth, and, okay, maybe _this_ is the fastest Casey’s heart has ever beaten before. It’s a pounding in her chest that’s difficult to ignore, one that Izzie can probably hear considering how close she is, one that she could undoubtedly feel if she just… reached a hand forward and pressed it against the left side of Casey’s ribcage, trace it up her neck, lean forward and… and…

And it doesn’t happen.

Because Beth bounds up to them out of nowhere, rambling on about something or other that Casey is barely sure of, hardly paying attention to. She nods along and speaks when she feels the need to, in order to fill the silence, but she’s too busy being lost in her head to engage properly.

She thinks: of how close Izzie was, of how far away she is now. The moment Beth had appeared at their side, Izzie had sprung away and moved a couple of inches further from her. Casey never knew there could be such a thing as too far, and definitely not that it could all be encapsulated within an arm’s reach.

 _She might as well be an entire universe away,_ Casey thinks sullenly. She hates the thought, hates herself for thinking it even more. It makes bile rise up in her throat, makes both her stomach and heart ache, makes a voice that certainly isn’t hers say: _Are you not good enough for her?_

It’s a silly thought, because Casey knows it has nothing to do with her, and instead has everything to do with downfalls and insecurities and doubts – things of which everyone has, and Izzie’s is this: she’s scared of judgement. She’s scared of people finding out truths about her that she doesn’t want anyone to know.

It’s not like Casey’s been told this, not like Izzie has ever fully disclosed it to her, but Casey understands and sees Izzie more than most. It’s clear in the way she acts, the way she falters when other people are around and backs away, the way she refrains from touching Casey at all.

When Beth finally turns away and leaves, Casey stares at her feet for a long while, stares at the ground and studies the cracks, mulls over the clanging thoughts that ring in her head. When she finally looks up, Izzie is long gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Casey approaching Izzie in the hall where she stands by her locker, and saying, “Why did you leave?”

Izzie hunches her shoulders, fiddles with the lock, flits her eyes back and forth. The hallway is empty, sparse other than the few people gathered at the opposite end.

“I don’t know,” she says, finally, after a few moments.

“Okay,” Casey says, simply, looking at her hands and fidgeting with them, and then – “Was it because of Beth?”

“What?” Izzie twists around to look at her, spinning on her heel and peering up at Casey. Casey isn’t that much taller, but there’s still a rather noticeable height difference. She sputters out, “What are – w-why would it be because of Beth?”

Casey sighs, fidgeting with her hands some more, and then explains, “You always jump away the moment someone else comes. Like… like you’re scared to be seen with me.”

Izzie averts her eyes, gulps, and then says, harshness rising in her tone, “Well, maybe I just don’t want my personal business broadcasted to everybody.”

“It was one person!” Casey exclaims. “And – and Beth’s my _friend.”_

“Yeah, well–” Izzie clears her throat. “She’s not mine.”

Casey’s heart sinks. Izzie opens her mouth again, and Casey already knows she’s going to dread the words.

And, like a rumble of thunder, like a flash of lightning, Izzie says, “Why do you care so much anyway? You’re not my girlfriend,” and Casey’s heart sinks even further, right down to the pit of her stomach, and she spits out, “Perhaps that’s a good thing.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It starts like this, with Izzie being the one to approach Casey in the hall this time, the next day, and saying, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Casey says, and slams her locker shut. She turns away to walk down the hall and away from Izzie, but gets stopped before she can by Izzie catching her by the sleeve.

“Listen,” she starts, and then stops, a pregnant pause filling the air. “I’m sorry. For what I said yesterday. I just… I get so in my _head_ sometimes, and then I don’t think of anyone else, or what the impact of what I say will be.”

Casey stares, mutters, “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know that,” Izzie says, emphatic. “And I wanted to say that yesterday – that what I said then wasn’t strictly true. I mean, I _know_ we’re not together, I _know_ we’re not girlfriends, but… but I’d like to be. And I’d like it if you wanted that to.” She pauses, thinking it over. “Or… or have I got this all wrong? Wait – you’re not still with Evan, are you? Oh my God, have I fucked this all up al–”

 _“What?”_ Casey bursts out, incredulous, and swiftly interrupting Izzie’s rambling. She laughs. “I’m not. I’m not with Evan. We… we broke up.” She stops, then, with a wry smile painted on her face, says, “And – for the record – I’m pretty sure _I’m_ the one who kissed _you.”_

Izzie blushes, giggles in a way Casey still can’t quite believe is real, and says, “Oh. Okay.” The faint hints of a smile forms in the curve of her lips, inherently obvious no matter how much she tries to hide it.

“The thing is,” Casey starts, “how do I _know_ it’s not gonna be the same? One second you’ll be all fine with me, willing to hold my hand and be close to me or whatever, and the next, what – you won’t even wanna be near me?”

“I – I wasn’t ready for that then,” she says, pursing her lips. “But – I think – wait, Casey. _Newton.”_

She steps forward, touches Casey at the wrist, puts her hands up to her face, grazes a thumb over the curve of Casey’s cheekbone, and Casey knows this is a prelude to something else, something _more._ She knows what’s coming next.

Izzie kisses her, with as much force as their first one. She kisses her, right in the middle of the school hallway, where _anyone_ could see. Casey’s insides feel set on fire, a second phoenix, another one reborn, ashes and ashes.

When Izzie pulls away, she murmurs, “I don’t care what they think. Not anymore. Not if I can have you.”

And Casey kisses her again, right in the middle of the school hallway, where _anyone_ could see, and she finds that she doesn’t care either.

**Author's Note:**

> Concerning what Casey said _(“Perhaps that’s a good thing.”)_ , I did consider adding in a line during their conversation after where she apologises for saying that – even if it was just in the heat of the moment and she didn’t _really_ mean it – but I couldn’t find anywhere that didn’t feel like it was interrupting the flow of the story. But I do imagine that she apologised after.
> 
> You might not have even thought anything of it, but just thought I’d say that.


End file.
